Pieces of You
by pLLanet
Summary: Shepard's gone; who can he turn to for answers? A Garrus/FemShep fic. Rated M for language and spicy bits. Garrus/Shepard, Garrus/Liara. Spoilers for the beginning of ME2; R&R welcome and appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

Data feed complete. Loading...

Uplink complete. Current output assignation: VZ07VK.

Playback)Source&!Sec004Cam08ANormSSV

Path)2183.2.11 09:34:17SGT

Playback initiated.

Sound is oddly muted, distorted; most likely the effects of stopping short at the near edge of the atmospheric envelope. Combustibles in cockpit and adjacent bridge area have caught, but majority of area exposed to open space and therefore does not have requisite oxygen for fuel. Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau is at the helm. OSD displays major damage in all sectors, including massive hull breaches on command level and drive core failure. Estimation: at this moment, the ship is a total loss.

Commander Shepard arrives at bridge. Hardsuit's breather system is engaged and sealed for extra-atmospheric maneuvers. Enters softlock barrier into oxygenated area. Conversation is muffled; normal communication inadvisable in immediate proximity to vacuum – short range comms still functional, then.

Pause.

ORec01m25s=Rec

Audio recorded successfully. Initiate filtering sequence?

Saving... Path)MorShep01Aud!Oxt

Resume.

Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau and Commander Shepard begin egress to Escape Bay 004. Assistance required: instability of cockpit region coupled with Lieutenant's degenerative disability leaves high likelihood of serious injury sustained. Shouting –

AddendMorShep01Aud!Oxt

ORec15s=Rec

Explosion in forward bridge. Coincides with postulated impact of second beam attack. Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau successfully enters escape shuttle. Secondary explosion results in loss of grip; Commander Shepard pushed from escape bay docking area via shockwave. Debris from explosion impacts hardsuit.

Pause.

Magnify)Factor4.2x Coord 42.3X17.9Y Slow)Factor 3x

Revert.

Resume.

Debris from explosion impacts hardsuit; three punctures detected. No significant bodily damage. Debris identified as grid from cockpit flooring. Shepard initiates escape bay firing sequence, floats free in 0G. Acknowledges punctures in hardsuit due to rapidly venting air supply. Ineffectual attempts to stem damage with hands. Thought unlikely due to psychological profiling, but panic readily apparent.

Calc)EstAtmosVent ]

Calc)^DescentEstDist45000km

Access) Atmospheric Content

Access) Requisition Schematics Path)ShepardN7Req

Variance)^^Reentry

Calc)Probability: Survival

Calculating...

Probability Returned: Nil

Shuttle 004 record continues for 03:48; consists of various distress vocalizations. Human: Male. As Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau is the only occupant, it can be assumed that he is the source.

Playback Complete.

Garrus flicked his visor up, then tiredly tossed it onto his bunk, dispersing the holo display into a wash of yellow-orange light that dappled the walls and ceiling of his small chamber. What was the human saying? Glutton for punishment? He'd left this vid for last, reviewing the rest of the security footage from the other recovered pods in an attempt to figure out what in blazes actually happened out there. Although the ultimate outcome hadn't changed – Shepard was dead. Running algorithms to figure out exactly how long her air would last or whether her suit would protect her from reentering the planet's atmosphere was an exercise in futility at best, in morbidity at worst. And in pain; can't forget that.

But interestingly enough, it didn't hurt. Or at least, he'd be interested if there were any spare energy to be so. There should be some sort of emotive response, at least – sorrow, loss, even anger at Joker for getting her killed with his own stupidity. But instead all that lay under his breastplate was a chill emptiness, like the cold vacuum of space that had swallowed her. Swiping a talon across his omni-tool, Garrus checked the time, then retrieved his visor from its place on the bunk. Six hours until the interment ceremony. Enough time for further review. Filter the audio, reinsert it into the video stream. See if he can get a glimpse of the aggressor ship from a different angle. Eat, maybe. Or not.

Playback)Source&!Sec004Cam08ANormSSV

Path)2183.2.11 09:34:17SGT

Replay initiated.


	2. Chapter 2

Trees. Some kind of Earth variety, tall and strong with thick, massive trunks and wide, reaching branches. The humans thought it fitting for Shepard, symbolic of her strength and how her influence had touched so many lives. Too bad the metaphor was flawed by the fact that these... _Redwoods_... lived twice as long as an Asari - and far longer than Shepard had herself. Still, they tried to make up for it by claiming it was comparative to her legacy. She had liked it here, apparently... one of the massive preserves left on a widely industrialized planet. From what he had seen of the cities, he didn't blame her. Sprawling things, with none of the organization and order that so suffused Palaven. She'd lived here, from what he'd heard from the others gathered for the small ceremony. Earth, that is, not this province called California.

The ceremony itself had been rife with things he didn't understand. The military honors, of course, were readily kenned, and not too different from the rites given Turian warriors – a recitation of victories, medals, accomplishments. The theological bits had been beyond his fairly basic human lore, most of which he had picked up from servicemen on the Normandy and from stories his grandfather had told about the wars. Some surreptitious inquiries on the extranet during the proceedings via his visor had given a basic understanding of their religious structure, and he supposed it wasn't all that different from that normally practiced among his own people. Apparently humans revered spirits as well, the main difference being they expected intercession, rather than inspiration. The rites were solemn, reverent... and much less hateful than Williams' manner had led him to expect.

But finally it was over, the empty casket lowered into the ground to be covered over with soil from her homeworld. The nonhuman members of the Normandy's crew had gathered together near the burial site after her people had left, an irregular group if ever there was one. Dr. T'soni's hand rested lightly on Tali's shoulder, and Wrex spoke softly in his basso rumble as Garrus approached.

"...where we all come from, and where we all go," he finished, and drove his combat knife deep into the soft earth at the edge of the pedestal. At the Turian's inquiring mandible, he shrugged. "They didn't even bury her with her gun," he explained, then rolled his shoulders again and headed down the hill to the convoy, avoiding trees with an uncharacteristic deference. Tali was shaking under Liara's gentle touch as she warbled a Quarian dirge under her breath, the violet light at the pinnacle of her mask flickering softly with the rhythm. As the tune died away she turned to Garrus and placed a gloved hand carefully on the vambrace of his armor, mindful of his talons the entire time.

"I have acquired a bottle of Derneucan gin, and it doesn't keep after opening. It's not levo-friendly, and I _really_ shouldn't drink the whole thing myself." She chuckled wearily, the sound carrying oddly through her electronics. "Some adventures just shouldn't be repeated."

Garrus nodded, purposefully keeping his mandibles from flaring with surprise - though it took no small amount of effort. While on the surface it made a lot of sense - he was the only other dextro on the ship, and therefore the only other who could drink the stuff without serious risk of anaphylactic shock – they'd never spent time together, on ship or off, unless on ground crew together with... with Shepard. Maybe she was just looking for comfort, although he was admittedly the last person he'd ask. He nodded again, and forced some warmth into his voice. "Sounds good. There's a club about a block from where we're bunking down. Some of the crew are headed there after-" He indicated their surroundings with a wave of his hand. "Why don't I meet you there?" She inclined her head, and with a skritch of glove on metal, squeezed his arm and headed down the hill after Wrex. That left just Liara, who was still facing the monument, fingers resting on the stone.

"It's good you came," she ventured when Tali was out of sight. "We were afraid you wouldn't make it."

He almost hadn't, overwhelmed with completely foreign sense of procrastination. As it was he'd arrived late, missing the first fifteen minutes of the ceremony. He'd elected to stand at the edge of the clearing when he got there, both to keep from disrupting the ceremony and because he doubted anyone would want to crane their necks to look over him. Schooling his face to impassivity, he glanced back to the doctor, to find her staring back at him. Not fooled.

Damn Asari.

"We were worried about you," she continued. "No one had seen you since we landed. Wherever you were, you were alone. Every culture grieves differently, Garrus, but..." Her voice trailed off, and she touched her hand to the marble again, and smiled. "You know, I told her once that I was poor at communicating with others. That it was why I had secreted myself on a distant planet, where my poor computers and mechs would be the only ones to take offense. And yet somehow, I found myself talking to her, more than I had to anyone in over a hundred years. She was a friend; one of the few people in this galaxy whom I could trust, and who would place her trust in an untested young Asari. And I know my words have given cause to offend, but-" She glanced up then, and there was fire in her eyes. "But as her friend, I will not betray that trust by watching you destroy yourself. She would expect more from me than that."

Anger. At least it was something, after these weeks of sullen nothingness lodged deep in his throat. He clung to it, stoked it, pushed it out through his chest plates as though it were a living force. "You're damned right it's offensive," he growled. "What you're saying is that she'd expect more of me." His heel spurs dug deep into the grass as he settled his weight back into an aggressive stance. "You assume much, _Asari. _What is it the humans say? When you assume, you turn us both into donkeys?" Her lips twitched, and the fact that she was fighting down a smile only incensed him further. "What exactly is it you think I'm going to do? Throw myself off a cliff? Bite the barrel of my rifle? Tear off all my plating and stand in the sun? Tell me, _Doctor_, what exactly makes you think I'm out to destroy myself? What's your clinical analysis?"

Her eyes were horrified, but the muscles in her jaw were set. Granted, that last one was a particularly gory visual, but she stood fast in the torrent of vitriol. "The fact that you so easily name several methods of self-destruction means that at least part of your subconscious has considered it. Is further analysis really necessary?"

Double-damned Asari.

A tentative step forward, and then another, and she was directly in front of him. His visor caught and magnified the trembling and clenching of her fingers, though he noted with interest that the rest of her posture seemed submissive, not aggressive. Not an urge to strike then – an urge to touch? Hell, he thought wearily. Why not? The least I can do for you, Shepard... Make sure your pet Doc feels a little better. Lowering his head, he caught a look of gratitude and then a warm hand cupped his cheek, thumb grazing his right mandible. Something about these five-fingered races and their unnatural preoccupation with faces.

"What is it, Garrus... what is it that hurts you so?" Her voice was low, melodic, soothing his plates back into relaxed position. "I'm not that kind of doctor, you know. I don't heal the sick, bandage wounds, but I can help you, if you'll let me." Slow words, deep measured breaths, soft touches whispering along his neck. There was a stillness now, his earlier anger forgotten. Not the deathly silence that had haunted him for these past few weeks, or the heart-stopping hush that came from mating, just... a tranquility. A sense of placid waters that would normally have sent all his danger senses into overdrive but seemed almost welcoming.

"You're in my head," he managed thickly.

She had the good grace to flush, at least, a purpling along her cheekbones that highlighted her faint freckles. "Only a little," she murmured, "though I shouldn't be surprised that you of all people noticed. If you want me to stop, I will." As he bent his head further, pushing into her hand, the smile returned. "Tell me."

All at once, he knew. All the nights without sleep, all the days filled with watching her die,and now he knew. The knowledge came without warning, and before it could stick in his throat he pushed it forth to burst from his mouth.

"I didn't know her name!" Liara's hands stopped, then continued their placating gestures. "She was my friend, my commander... she was more than that." He didn't know the words, but his eye wouldn't follow commands to access the visor's database. "I served with her for a year. I spent nearly every waking moment with her, from when I left C-Sec to when we took Saren down. And every day, it was, 'Shepard', 'Commander', and I never thought about it. I never knew anything about her." Her other hand moved to his back, completing the embrace. "Liara... you were – you were _with_ her. Will you tell me something? Anything?"

The young Asari lay quiet a moment, head resting on the chest of his armor. He was sure that she didn't know the affection implied in the gesture; she wouldn't do it if she did. Her next words thrummed in the shared quietude. "I could show you." At his astonished look, mandibles flung wide, she grinned. "She didn't know, the first time. Didn't know what it meant. That woman, Shiala, put the Cipher in her head and it was just information, data. But she knew there was more there, and when I asked to help her, she... knew. She did it anyway. There are pieces, referential thoughts..." Liara let the statement die away, then shook her head and continued. "We did not make love, Garrus Vakarian, but it was intimate nonetheless. And I think she would want me to help you."

Garrus straightened in her embrace. "It wouldn't be fair to you."

"It would be... catharsis." When his stunned silence made it apparent no more disagreement was forthcoming, she stood on her tiptoes and locked her hands behind his collar. "Embrace Eternity," she said, the breath a brief susurrus over his skin. Then her eyes locked with his and went black, and for a time there was simply nothing at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Machines. They're killing those people, murdering them, gears and saws and electronics on flesh, bones melting away, oh God, the machines...

And he _felt_ her, felt her mind shy away from the horror, retreat to a time when machines were nothing to be feared but simply an extension of the creative genius of Man. She brushed the back of her hand across her brow, knowing it left a smudge of dirt and oil, and not caring. A grin spread across her face as she locked the wrench around the nut again, muscles in her arm straining and pulling until with another quick jerk the tool turned freely. Garrus could feel her labored breath, lungs pulling air deep inside, the sticky sweat making her coveralls cling in uncomfortable places. She was prone, and he could feel the closeness of the undercarriage of this machine all up and down her body. A... _car_. An old combustion-engine vehicle, not used on earth for the past century and a half. An antique, but it _shone_ like an animal with a glossy coat from good hunting. Its appearance fairly screamed of the grueling hours of broken nails and heavy tools and cursing and blood and _joy_. He could feel it as she barked her shin wheeling out from underneath the machine, cursing even more through the laughter. He grasped the red plastic fuel can with her, filled the tank and grasped the cap to squeeze it shut over the aperture. The part of him that remained without marveled at the strength in those hands, their sure dexterity as they tweaked and smoothed the details around her creation, the way they moved unflinchingly through the ritual of cleansing with the harsh chemicals that stripped off the oil and stung in scraped knuckles. And as she stripped off the coveralls and felt the cool tingle of the breeze and the answering twinge in her breasts, he felt a similar, matching throb. She pulled her coppery hair out of the confining elastic and let it sweep free over her shoulders, then smoothed her khaki shorts and levered herself through the window into the vehicle. With a twist of the key in the ignition, she pulled out of the garage and sped onto the permasphalt.

"It's good so many humans are going out to colonize the galaxy," she mused. "More wide open spaces here, now." It had been general consensus to leave the roads, not as a traveling surface but as a guidance from place to place – a way to control traffic. Very few used them for their first-intended purpose, and she flicked the switch with delight, letting the canvas covering lift up and back. It was still afternoon, and the hot sun felt divine, crisping and just a little painful. So she'd burn... fuck it, it felt great. And with a great whoop of pure pleasure, she clutched, shifted, sped even faster along the deserted highway in the golden heat.

He rode with her, carefree, the wind streaming her hair behind her in a fiery halo. It kissed their skin, sweeping the sun's warmth over them in ripples. So different from Palaven, this Oregon – the sun here baked, but it didn't kill. The centrifugal pull in their hips as they wound around turns, the leap in their stomach as they crested a hill and touched back to earth, the vibration of the venerable engine as it rolled through the vehicle's panels and through their thighs and up their spine.

She drove for an hour, then parked the vehicle carefully in the garage and letting the screened door slap shut behind her. Stripping as she went, she left clothing strewn throughout the house; her boots in the mudroom, shirt across a chair in the den, shorts on the floor of the hallway. Finally she was nude, and while the small thatch of hair at her groin should have surprised him, he simply accepted it as part of their own body. One hand groped at the shower mechanism, the other sliding down her belly to tangle in the curls and slide a finger inside the slick chamber below.

_Oh, God._

_Spirits..._

_Goddess-_

Distantly, he felt his own member pressing against the inside of his abdominal plates followed by warm hands on him, stroking and squeezing the slippery length. But more immediate was the sensation of clamping down hard on that finger inside, groaning with her and sliding another in beside it. Of stepping under the spray, the hot needles of water like a lover's teeth on her wind-reddened skin, of her breasts pressing against the shower wall, rubbing that bundle of nerves against her palm and rocking her hips. Finally she broke, clenching convulsively with her head thrown back into the water and sharp cries breaking past her lips. Sliding down the wall, she sat, knees drawn up to her chest, panting. A languor crept into their bones now, strangely at odds with the heated expectance that usually filled him after mating. As the connection faded he could hear her thoughts, full of lassitude and contentment. _The perfect end for the last day of leave._

Garrus jerked at the suddenness of warm flesh pressing around him, of his own hips bucking and the white-hot pleasure bursting behind his eyes. Another voice joined his as he grunted, lilting and keening her gratification to the stars. His own release was swift, and his claws sank deep into the tree they were leaned against. Liara tipped her head against his chest as his joints locked, the plates fitting together with a heavy click. As she looked up, astonished, a chagrined laugh rumbled from his chest. "We're, ah... going to be here for a bit, I'm afraid. It, er... ensures-" He groaned, spasming inside her and spilling his seed again. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she gave another thrust, and-

"Aw, hell." The _heat_, she was hot, and ridged inside, like-

Another jerk, and he came inside her once more. She kept moving, teasing him to completion until his joints finally unlocked and he sagged to his knees. Her strange hands found his face again, and she tilted it up to meet her gaze. "Better?"

Garrus nodded, exhausted, and surveyed his armor littering the scene. "Are you all right?" At her own nod, he sighed relief. "Er... am _I_ all right?" She smiled, showing white, even teeth. "It's just, you're levo, and-" He gestured between their bodies, at the silvery trail running down her thigh. Her smile widened lasciviously and he ducked his head in embarrassment. "Shut up, Garrus," he remarked to himself. "You're making this awkward, Garrus."

"Here," she said, handing him his helmet. "You had better get dressed, if you are going to meet Tali." Together, they replaced his clothes and armor. When the last of his armor was in place, Liara leaned up and kissed his mandible. "Do not worry, Mr. Vakarian. I have no designs on your independence." Gathering her own garments, she slipped into the trees to dress. While the thought had crossed his mind, had he been that obvious?

Oh yeah. In his head.

Damn Asari.

He couldn't deny, though, that the experience had left him in better spirits. Ducking through the undergrowth, Garrus hummed, a deep, melodic sound. The pain was still there, and the loss beside it, but no longer overpowering. Shepard would want him to keep going. Bits of other memories danced in the corners of his mind: the first time she had taken her instructor to the mat, glowing with pride transitioning to the red, overheated barrel of her pistol as she desperately defended during the Skyllian Blitz. So many instants, and so much time it would take to sort through them all. Time that would have been dedicated to more review of the security pod vids from the Normandy, of watching her-

Garrus stopped, activated his omni-tool.

Delete)Source&!Sec004Cam08ANormSSV

Path)2183.2.11 09:34:17SGT

Proceed?

He'd rather watch her live.

And, humming once more, he broke into a jog in order to reach the bar before Tali left.


	4. Epilogue

Epilogue

The shots were coming faster now, and thermal clips were getting scarce. He'd known this would probably be his last stand, but even at one shot per kill things were getting iffy. And he was tired... three days without sleep, of nonstop firing, of his body pumping stimulants into his system to keep him alert. But to what end? Sure, he was one of the best among his people in CQC, but that didn't help a lot when there were numbers _and_ guns on the other side. A lull, while the mercenaries regrouped. He knew about the infiltration team, but they were already below where he couldn't get a shot. And if he left his sniper tower there would be far too many rifle-fodder by the time he got there. A lull though... might as well get things settled.

Removing the vial of alcohol from his kit, Garrus began tracing the offering on the floor. He had never been an artist, but letters were easy enough, even if he couldn't write Human with much fluency. A few flourishes – the marks for speed, resolve, and courage – and the picture was done. Swiping the floor with his talons provided the spark, and the letters lit up in brief homage to the selected spirit, a prayer for its inspiration.

Shots rang out below; the mercs had sent their next batch of expendables across the bridge, and likely the infiltrators would seek entrance while he was preoccupied. But a drive core thrummed in his veins, his body comprised of thousands of parts who each knew their function and were unified in purpose against terrible odds. Behind his eyes flickered the fleeting word, crafted from fire and smoke and will and sacrificed to its own spirit.

Normandy.

The mercenaries charged, spread loosely across the span, knowing full well that clumping together would just let him conserve clips. Even that ragged formation began to fail as one of the humans took aim and shot the man in front of him in the head.

Wait, what?

Garrus held his fire for a moment, letting those who wished to disrupt the charge show themselves. There were three: the initial shooter, a dark colored male with obvious biotic capabilities; a female, also human, with long dark hair and an admirable economy of movement; and a ghost. She moved like death itself, firing her pistol with one hand while the other shoved one who got too close backward with enough force to crumple his helmet. The visored face turned up to his position on the top floor, her clarion voice ringing through the mayhem of combat. "Archangel! We're coming!"

As the voice echoed throughout the building, his instincts took over. Shot after shot ripped through the remaining men, covering the small group forcing its way into the lower levels of the complex. Though they quickly disappeared from sight he kept up the covering fire, ensuring no one could make their way into the building behind them. At the sound of movement behind him Garrus spun, rifle in hand, to see the three humans clustered in an impromptu wedge behind him, the male reloading his firearm and the dark haired female assessing him coolly.

"Archangel?" The third, the ghost, removed her helmet and shook out her sweat-damped hair. "I'm Commander Shepard of the Normandy. We're here to help."

Levering himself upright with one clawed hand, the Turian rose to greet her. His dextrous talons worked the clasp on his own helm and slung it under an arm, then turned his face to her. The expressions flitting across her face were priceless; human body language and facial features were painted with such a broad brush. Shock first, then incredulity, then pure, unadulterated joy. "Garrus?" Her arms spread wide and he recognized the movement, precursor to a human expression of affection. The male's eyes widened with shock as the other female's narrowed with disdain. He hesitated, then swept Shepard up into his arms, twirling her in a circle for good measure.

Fuck it. It felt great.

From there on, everything was as before. Sure, she was with Cerberus now, and he was counted important enough a vigilante for the three main mercenary factions to band together against him. But the fighting together, her giving him room to snipe in peace and holding the big Krogan's attention, strafing amongst the crates and never worrying once that he'd hit her. The only time she'd paused was to ask about his name, an eyebrow lifting at his nonchalant response and promising that they'd discuss it later. And when the pain came, searing through his head, she was there, silhouetted in the flames of the downed gunship. Her hand was warm when she tore off her glove and pressed it to his throat, searching for the lifebeat through his thick skin, and her voice was steady as she called for Dr. Chakwas to ready the medbay for him. The dark male smeared on the pungent medigel as she searched the back of his head for further injury. Brow furrowed, she pulled free the chain, the amulet slung back into the hood of his collar for safekeeping. The medallion was shaped like that of a Peacekeeper's badge, back on Earth; the graven gold displayed a man with outstretched wings, a serpent ground beneath his sandal and a sword in his hand. "St. Michael, Protect Us" it read, above and below his likeness. Her chosen spirit, the patron saint of soldiers. Saint Michael.

The Archangel.


End file.
